The Salmon Letter

I almost never remember my dreams, so when I do remember a particularly funny dream, I feel I must share it.

Last night, I dreamt I’d left my laptop at a coffee shop inside a mall. It wasn’t a mall I recognized, but I knew it was definitely a local mall. You know how dreams are like that, right?

The main chunk of the dream was me trying to write a letter to this coffee shop to tell them that I’d left my laptop there and ask if they could please return it to me.

It’s odd enough I was writing a letter. In fact, throughout the dream, Teresa was sitting with me at our kitchen table asking me why I couldn’t just call them, or just drive out to the mall to get it. “I just can’t”, I kept saying. No idea why I couldn’t. I just knew that this was not a viable option. I had to write a letter.

But here’s the catch. I couldn’t write. It was like one of those dreams where you’re trying to run and you just. can’t. move. your. legs. Only it was my hand that wasn’t cooperating.

And to make things even more strange: I couldn’t find paper to write on. I was frantically pacing around our house looking for some paper and an envelope to address. I remember addressing an envelope—painfully—and then turning to the letter.

Only when I looked down at the letter, I’m writing it on a piece of salmon. Obviously, I wasn’t making much progress. The pen was all crusty with salmon stuff and the salmon was just a mess.

And I was so pissed off about all of this.

So all this time, Teresa’s asking “Why don’t you just call them?” And then I remember I started to doubt my commitment to writing the letter as well. Why can’t I just go down to the mall? Why can’t I just pick up the phone? Why on earth was I writing a letter on salmon?

And then I woke up.

By the way, I haven’t eaten salmon in at least a month or two, by the way, so I have no clue where the salmon came from.